On his last night an extraordinary thing happened. As Tich took his final curtain call, a man in a black cloak leapt to his feet, clambered up onto the apron and waved a broad-brimmed black hat about his head, shouting: “Get up, all of you. On your feet! Pay homage to the world’s greatest artist, a genius! Greater than Irving, greater than Lautrec!” The audience duly rose to their feet in a standing ovation, and in the wings I turned to Maurice, who was joining in the applause, my whole face a question.“It is Lucien Guitry,” he confided, as the cheers rose to the rafters. “He is the greatest actor in all of France.”Eventually Guitry waved the crowd’s acclaim to a hush, and kissed Little Tich on both cheeks. He had to kneel to accomplish this, looking rather like an emotional father reunited with a long-lost child, and while still down there on his knees, he begged: “Please, maître … do not leave us without letting us see one more time … the Big Boots!”
